


Puppetmaster

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Durbe ever wanted was to protect, and now he was being used to destroy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppetmaster

She’s screaming his name, or maybe whispering it because he can barely hear it over Don Thousand’s taunts –  _Durbe, Durbe, the failed knight, the failed protector, the broken shield_ – and no matter how much he tries to drown it out with thoughts of his friends –  _Alit, Gilag, Mizael, Merag, Nasch_  – their faces swim in his hazy mind, and they whisper things to him.

_We trusted you to lead us._

_You couldn’t protect us._

_I never should have left the future of Barian World with you._

It hurts, it breaks his heart – part of him laughs at the thought; what heart? he’s a monster, a demon – and he… he didn’t want it. He never wanted to lead. Nasch was the leader, Nasch was their constant, their king, their rock. Durbe just wanted to serve. That’s  _all_  he ever wanted, in either of his lives.

 _Did I lose?_ he thinks, and he must have, because that was his intention, right? To lose. To protect Merag from Vector’s attack, to sacrifice himself…

_For the sake of Barian World…_

He doesn’t understand why Don Thousand picked him to be a lord. He wishes he could have died in peace, serving Nasch, serving his kingdom… that he had never been reborn like this.

But he is, and he hurts.

He hurts so much that he doesn’t hear Merag screaming for him, doesn’t feel Vector ripping his life force from his immobile body.

* * *

Mizael had opposed splitting up –  _we’re stronger together, and we have to get Durbe back no matter what –_ and Nasch reluctantly agrees, though he worries it will be too late if – when – they found Durbe this way, and he and Mizael and Merag make their way through Don Thousand’s palace in silence. They had never been there before. They had never known it existed.

Mizael pushes open a heavy door and steps through. Merag gives Nasch a look full of sorrow –  _he sacrificed himself to save me, Nasch_  – before following, and Nasch closes his eyes and takes a moment to steel himself for whatever might be waiting for them.

A hooded figure stands at the base of the stairs leading to the shadowed throne.

White robes.

“Durbe?” Mizael whispers, taking a step forward, and Merag tugs on his arm to pull him back.

 _Something’s wrong,_ Nasch thinks frantically, because Durbe is just standing there, unmoving, and his face is shrouded by the hood of his robes.

“Durbe,” Mizael ventures again, and this time, the figure’s shoulders shake.  _Is he crying?_ Nasch wonders for a fleeting second, and without thinking, strides forward.

“Nasch!” Mizael pulls free of Merag and follows close behind. “Be careful-”

But Nasch is focused on the robed figure, because it’s not his Durbe, it can’t be, because  _his_ Durbe would acknowledge him, wouldn’t make him worry, and this…

“Please, grant me death,” and it’s Durbe’s voice, except soft and submissive, pleading, weak.

“Durbe, we’re… here. Come on.” Nasch holds out his hand, but Durbe doesn’t move.

“Take my life.”

It’s repulsive, and Nasch’s sorrow for Durbe’s state of mind drowns out even his hatred for Don Thousand and Vector for doing this to him in the first place. “Durbe, no, come with us.”

He reaches out with a shaky hand and pulls the hood from Durbe’s face, and can’t stifle the scream that escapes him.

Durbe’s eyes aren’t sad, or remorseful, or pleading. They are empty of life, and Nasch stumbles back as Durbe reaches for him. Mizael catches Nasch by the shoulders and pulls him away from this…  _thing_  that has taken over Durbe’s body, because the real Durbe isn’t there anymore.

His Durbe is dead, and Vector was the one to kill him.

“Free me from my eternal torment,” Durbe whispers, and Mizael’s nails claw into Nasch’s shoulder, holding Nasch upright when his legs nearly give out.

“Vector!” Merag’s voice echoes throughout the chamber, and she’s simultaneously frightened and furious, and sure enough, Vector descends the staircase, melting out of the shadows, and stops directly behind Durbe.

“He was delightful,” Vector croons, patting Durbe’s face. Durbe doesn’t respond; not a flicker of disgust or fear or  _recognition_ crosses his face. Then again, Nasch didn’t really expect any response. “Such power, such sorrow.”

“Get your filthy hands off of him!” Mizael snaps, but he doesn’t move any closer. He’s scared, Nasch registers faintly, and that’s all right because if Mizael is scared then Nasch is terrified.

“Oh?” Vector’s face crinkles into a smile. “Do you want him back, darling Miza?”

“Rot in hell,” Merag hisses.

“Isn’t that where we  _are_?” Vector says, waving a hand conversationally. “But how about a compromise, eh?”

Durbe holds out his arm, and as soon as the duel disk materializes, Nasch is paralyzed with dread.

Vector lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Beat my puppet and you can have him back.”

All Durbe ever wanted was to protect, and now he was being used to destroy.

“Free me from my eternal torment,” Durbe whispers again, and Nasch hears Mizael’s labored breathing and Merag’s stifled sobs, and he allows himself to shed tears of his own for the cruel fate of his best friend.


End file.
